


Water Cools Not Love

by Jaela



Category: Love Actually
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaela/pseuds/Jaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mark's birthday, but he's got nothing planned. Juliet won't hear it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Cools Not Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChristyCorr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr/gifts).



Basically, Juliet had to meet Mark all over again.  
Standing on the treshold, clutching shopping bags, and breathing white clouds into the still-nippy air, Juliet fortified herself.  
When you think someone hates you, and suddenly find that the other extreme is true, well, there’s no other way you can go about it, is there?  
She shifted the bags and rapped the knuckes of one half-numbed hand against the door.  It reminded her of when she’d first got her contact lenses back in school, never having realised until that moment how bad her vision actually was. Everything was clearer, brighter, sharper. Her depth perception shifted. Absolutely everything had to be reevaluated.  
So, then, reevaluation. That’s all this was about, really.  Nothing to get worked up about. No, really, nothing.  Juliet was working so hard on not getting worked up that, when Mark answered the door, it took a moment before she reminded herself that she did actually have to react to some extent.  
“Oh, uh, hello!” she said. Very eloquent. Good start. She rolled her eyes at herself internally.  Mark, understandably, looked puzzled. His eyes kept flicking from one side of her face to the other, and then to the shopping bags. As though he felt he ought to be able to puzzle out what was happening just by observing what was in front of him, and was confused as to why he couldn’t.  Well, say something, Juliet had to remind herself. This was all already proving to be more complicated than she’d hoped.  
“Ah,” she said, “it’s your birthday.”  
Mark’s brow furrowed for the quickest moment, and then he cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Y-- uh, yeah. It is, uhmm, that. Yep.”  
“A little bird told me,” she said, “you weren’t planning on celebrating alone. We can’t have that, though, can we.”  
Mark shifted his weight and stared at the ground.  
Juliet pressed her lips together, wondering whether it was best to reconsider this plan altogether. In a split second’s assessment, it wasn’t. It was entirely too late for that.  
“Can I come in? It’s a bit--”  
“Oh, right--”  
“Nippy, you know...”  
“Yeah, yes, of course. C-- yeah. Come in.”  
Mark stepped aside to let her by.  When he’d closed the door, Juliet pivoted on her heels to face him and smiled as naturally as she could manage, as if showing up unannounced and grocery-laden on someone’s doorstep was something she did every day. “Do you always spend your birthday like this-- sitting around at home by yourself?”  
Mark shrugged. “Usually. Sometimes I go to the cinema.”  
“By yourself?”  
“Yes.”  
“But it’s your birthday.”  
Mark nodded and averted his eyes. He was doing a lot of that today. “It’s just-- you see, there’s Christmas, and then before I can catch my breath, it’s New Year’s, and when my birthday rolls around four days later I’m too worn out to want to so anything, really,” he said.  
Juliet examined him ciritically. “You don’t look that worn out.”  
“Don’t I?”  
She shook her head. “Not this year. You at least need to eat something sweet and high in calories. It’s the rule for birthdays.” She marched to the kitchen and deposited her bags on the counter, and began to pull out a curious array-- bakers’ chocolate, heavy cream, digestives, and all manner of other things.  
“You’re making me a cake?” Mark asked, bemused.  
“No,” Juliet corrected, “pie. Banoffee- you didn’t have any last time, so I’m going to make you eat it now.”  
Mark stared at her, seemingly completely lost.  
“Are you just going to stand there?” she asked. “You can slice the bananas.” She shoved the aforenamed into his arms.  
“You’re making me a birthday cake,” Mark said, trying to keep straight what was happening, “only it’s not even a cake, it’s pie. And you’re making me help.”  
“Are you actually complaining?” Juliet laughed.  
Mark apparently had to think about that. “Uh. No, I suppose not.”  
“Good,” she said. “Then get to work.” And she gave him a playful shove to get him moving.

The thing about cooking when one is distracted is that things tend to go wrong. For example, when one is trying to figure out why the woman one is trying very hard not to be in love with is at one’s house preparing a pir crust in one’s food processor, one might choose a knife much sharper than is strictly necessary for slicing bananas. Further, when one is watching said woman’s eyelashes, trying to remember if they have always been that dark and long, one might make supplemental mistakes.  
“Ow-- god.” Mark clasped his wrist and examined the long diagonal cut running the length of his left index finger.  Before he could react, Juliet was at his side, pulling him to the sink.  
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Have to be more careful.”  
“Nn,” Juliet murmured noncomittally, turning on the tap and shoving his hand under the stream.  Mark watched the water fall lazily, intemittent with red that swirled around the drain, and then was gone.  And then there was just the water, and Juliet’s pale hands clasped firmly around his fingers and wrist.  
“It’s cold,” he said. Which was technically true, but not entirely, because he was burning like he’d suddenly come down with a fever. Whether from embarrassment over his stupid mistake or something else, he couldn’t tell. But he could almost feel the heat radiating off of his skin and warming the water as it fell.  
“Right,” Juliet said at last, and shut off the tap. “Where, ah... where can I find a bandage for this?”  
“I’ll get it,” he said.  
“No, you won’t. You’ll stay here so it doesn’t start bleeding again. You’ve already ruined one perfectly good banana.”  
“I hope you can forgive me.” And then, “There should be some in the medicine cabinet. In the bathroom, above the sink.”  
And not until that moment did Juliet’s delict fingers relinquish their hold on Mark’s hands.  
Given, it was only moments before they returned, this time patting the wound dry with a tissue and unwrapping a bandage to cover the thin pink laceration.  
“I don’t think you’ll need stiches,” Juliet’s voice hummed next to Mark’s ear. “It’s not too deep. But why don’t you whip the cream instead-- I’ll take care of the rest.”  
“I’m gravely injured,” Mark mock-complained. “You’re still going to make me work?”  
“If you want to eat,” Juliet teased back.  
Several times since she’d arrived, face flushed and arms full on his doorstep, Mark had considered asking Juliet why, exactly, she was here.  
But in this moment, he realised, it didn’t matter. 


End file.
